Lights
by Silent-Vociferation
Summary: People lived their lives with eyes brightly lit. This was something she had noticed as, each time she took a life for her own, she watched their gazes dim. It had always bothered her, but it was nothing compared to when Onmund's lights threatened to flicker out.


This was one of the prompts for Fandom February. I had meant to do the others, but as my friend bestowed upon me Dragon Age, I soon became enraptured and lost my inspiration to finish out the month with my Onmund/Dovakhiin fics. But I know there has to be some Onmund fans out there, so I hope you enjoy this fanfic.

The Dovakhiin is left nameless so that you can pretend she's yours. For the most part. My portrayal of the Dovakhiin tends to have magical preferences.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Elder Scrolls series.

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Light. As the Dovakhiin, she was supposed to protect Skyrim for the dragons, produce light where there was none.

Light. It was the beacon of hope she was supposed to carry for everyone else.

Light. Always a source of happiness, there were lights at festivals, lights in homes, lights hanging from the edges of the caravan wagons as they wandered and laughed into the night.

Loss of light was a horror. Children were afraid of the dark, people gave up without hope, and Skyrim fell without the Dovakhiin.

But more than these instances, the Dragonborn feared the loss of light because of what she had seen.

She had seen monsters die. She had seen _people_ die.

And every time, as she threw out her hand, as flames left her palm and scorched through flesh and bone into the very being of her opponent, she saw the light go out in their eyes.

Their once bright eyes, alight with life.

Well, at least until her magic had a taste.

She wanted to look away each time, deny that this was her draining away their essence. But that would make her worse, wouldn't it? So each time she took a life, she watched it leave, she wished it well wherever it was going, and she turned to face the next enemy.

She tried so hard not to let it bother her. Onmund had no idea what she went through each time she turned her deadly hands to an enemy, a spell at her fingertips. How could he? She'd mastered the art of hiding how blank, dim eyes ripped her apart inside. Days of adventuring and he could only watch her with admiration every time they took down a beast, a wretched creature.

No, he had no idea.

But he would.

There was a dragon. A blood dragon. They hadn't been prepared, a string of defeated skeletons in their wake, their stamina and magicka nonexistent. But there was no getting out of it now. A cold wind picked up, snapped at their heels, and soft snow began to fall, contrast with the hard looks they now wore on their dirtied faces.

Onmund and the Dragonborn fought. They struggled, clung to their wits and drank potion after potion. Onmund yelled his declarations of war, battle cries that would have made his father proud.

"Why don't you die?!"

She remained silent, because every fight was a funeral in the making. One side wasn't going to make it out alive. That was how she always did it. If it was for the monster, this was how she would pay her respects.

If it was for her…

The energy drained out of Onmund. His fingers flexed, expecting lightning in his palms, and nothing came.

"Shit," he whispered, glancing over to see that the Dovakhiin still had some in her as fire licked at her hands, ready to be hurled forward. She was still fighting. He had to, as well.

The dragon landed, a heated mass of muscle and scales. He reached behind him, grasping for arrows.

But there were none. Before the skeletons, there had been bandits in the distance. Arrows had taken care of them. But now there weren't any to take care of the dragon. Clenching his jaw, Onmund stared at his empty hands and allowed them to curl into fists. Fine. He wasn't completely helpless.

She watched him charge, almost as if in slow motion, fists in the air. Normally when the dragon was on the ground, she hit them with two-handed spells that stunned them momentarily. But not this time. Fire didn't come to her hands, which meant that dragon was perfectly capable of craning his neck towards the Nord, jaws wide, teeth glittering…

"_No!_" Her scream was shrill, but it wouldn't stop the dragon.

Those fangs closed around his torso, whipped him left, right, and loosed him at a tree that he slammed against with a thud and a crunch.

"_Onmund!_" Her cry pierced the air. Fire was not coming to her hands, but it glowed with a rage in her gaze.

She whirled, eyes trained on the beady eyes of the beast, lit up with life.

_Not for long_, she snarled in her head. A shout to slow him down, a split second to take out her axe, and she leapt into the air. Magicka returned to her in that instant. The axe went down, lodging into the dragon's neck. She ripped it out mercilessly, turned, and crouched atop his head, bending over to stare into his eyes upside down. She wanted him to watch her face as she took everything from him in a single instant.

Her hands lit up with lightning, in honor of Onmund, and she stretched her hands down and into his mouth, letting the power loose from her fingertips, down his throat and deep into his inside, crackling with death.

She'd never seen a terrified dragon. Not until that day as the light vanished entirely from his gaze.

Dragon dead, her heart beating erratically, she scrambled off the corpse and ran for Onmund, his name falling off her lips repeatedly, a desperate prayer from a sinner. She had taken so much life… but not this one.

"Please," she whispered, kneeling beside him, taking his head into her lap. "Onmund?"

He cracked his eyes open, gritting his teeth as a groan escaped him. "Here… at least…" He cleared his throat harshly. "For a little… longer…"

Her cheeks weren't wet. They couldn't be.

His eyes were dimming.

Her throat was clenching, her insides weren't twisting, her heart wasn't shattering. She could control it. She'd seen light leave before. She could see it leave then.

Except she couldn't. She couldn't watch his blue eyes fade, the lights in their depths die.

"No…" she murmured, voice hard. She didn't have a lot of magicka. But she didn't give a damn.

Gold light came to her palms, her hands race over his body, gaze stern and heavily concentrated.

"Hey…" Onmund tried to get her attention, but she ignored him.

"Your lights can't leave. I _will not let them_."

"Lights?" he hissed in pain and confusion as she pressed her finger tips to a gash from a fang, letting the magic stitch it together.

"If they die… you die, and I can't… I _can't_ let that happen. _Not to you_," she tried to explain, attempting to hide the terror in her voice as she continued her work.

He started to whisper her name, but she hushed him quickly.

"I'm not done," she insisted to him. He frowned, but did as she asked and remained silent.

The magicka was leaving again, and she had to pause to regain more. No, she couldn't run out. Not then. She had to keep going.

The warm feeling returned to her, the magic pulsing. She could do it.

Her hands glowed again, and in this way she worked throughout the night, taking short breaks to gather as much magicka as possible before continuing. She didn't remember falling asleep.

When the dragonborn awoke, her eyes fell on Onmund's back. Beneath her the ground was cold, too cold, and she shivered realizing she had fallen asleep in the snow. Luckily, it seemed, she had enough sense to cast blankets over her and Onmund.

_Onmund!_

Breathing picking up, she jolted forward and roughly grabbed onto his shoulder, turning him over to look into his face. Was he alive? Did she succeed? Was there still-

"_Ow_…"

She froze.

"That's one way to wake me up… I guess…"

Her breathing stopped, anxiously waiting as his eyes shifted beneath closed lids.

Finally they opened.

Eyes.

Bright blue eyes, the lights shining in their depths, _life_.

"Lights," she breathed, confirming their existence in his gaze.

He furrowed his brow and confusion, but said nothing as her fingers traced the contours of his face.

"Thank the nine," she whispered, and before he could say anything else on the matter, she pressed her lips to his, fast and rough out of excitement and recklessness.

They stared at each other for a while, ignoring the soft snow around them. "Well… I guess I don't have to ask anymore… what you meant…" he finally murmured. "Not to you… that's what you'd said."

"I love you," the Dragonborn muttered into his neck.

"I love you too."

She stayed there a while, breathing in his scent, listening to his heartbeat. "I couldn't let you lose the lights."

"Speaking of those… what are you talking about?"

"Lights?"

He struggled to laugh without hurting himself. "Lights," he confirmed.

"Every time I fight… I look into the eyes of whoever… whatever I'm fighting. When we die, the lights go out. Life is gone. Thought is gone. Future is gone. Because of me. It's the least I can do to watch it leave them forever," she explained slowly. "But… I couldn't let that happen to-"

He stopped her there, a hand on her cheek and a smile on his face. "Thank you," he whispered, and he brought her lips to his once more.

"I'll wear something special tonight… you better mention it," she murmured into the kiss. "It's not your _family's_ amulet, but I hope it's alright."

"More than alright."

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I have now done my part, contributing to the dismal amount of Onmund/Dovakhiin fanfiction. Reviews, critiques, and comments are much appreciated. Thank you very much for reading!

Sivo


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